


Middle Ground

by sleepyowlet



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Erotica, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyowlet/pseuds/sleepyowlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Landsmeet is resolved without fighting and ends in a compromise: Anora will remain queen, Alistair does not throw a hissy-fit, and Loghain and the Warden marry to cement the alliance. Only they don't get along very well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Middle Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Babblerama: I'm not putting Loghain on the throne; Anora would kill me... I'm going with her as Queen and someone else as Prince Consort. Sorry, that was the only way I could sort this out in my head. And I ended the story before the actual consummation – but I thought that it would not be important for the story itself. And I didn't make her a virgin – I'm heartily sick of writing virgin Wardens.
> 
> Original Prompt:  
> Did anyone else notice...  
> That there's sort of a gaping hole at the Landsmeet? I mean, it seems to me there's another option besides the, Alistair rules alone, Alistair rules with Cousland, Alistair rules with Anora or Anora rules alone bank of choices.
> 
> Loghain is acting regent. Why does it never occur to anyone that a compromise could be struck? F!Warden marries Loghain, thereby balancing the power between the old regime and the new. Yeah, yeah, it's pretty AU, but that's what I want to see: F!Warden (I guess Cousland is the natural choice but I'd actually love to see a pissy Tabris or Surana on the throne for once) marries non-Warden Loghain to please the Landsmeet and compromise.
> 
> I want post-wedding angst and romance - they hate each other, Alistair is furious, etc, etc. One of them decides they're fed up with the bickering and starts making well-intentioned overtures. The Anora courting Fergus fill above is actually what inspired this request, so anything in that neighborhood - a picnic, gifts, a day off from royal responsibilities and either through sheer force of will, fate or actual real love (or a combo of all three!), the two of them begin seeing eye to eye.
> 
> TL;DR: Loghain marries F!Warden to please bitchy nobles. They hate each other. One of them courts the other. Romance and sexin' ensues.
> 
> Plz anons, do it for a sick LKLT. /puppy eyes

**Middle Ground**

by sleepyowlet

Sometimes Lyrill Surana wondered, if she was the Maker's very own jester.  
Little elven girls didn't get swept off their feet by knights in shining armour.  
Lyrill Surana was married to the Hero of the River Dane who lugged around about sixty pounds of very shiny Silverite practically every day.  
Little mages weren't supposed to hold titles.  
Lyrill Surana was now Teyrna of Gwaren since she was married to Loghain Mac Tir.  
Mages were said to be lascivious and promiscuous.  
Lyrill Surana had had sex exactly once (hastily in a closet with another elven apprentice), and the chances that she would ever sleep with anyone again were quite slim – at least as long as her husband was alive.  
Well, technically she was Lyrill Mac Tir now, but she stubbornly refused to think of herself with his name attached to hers. Truth be told, she hardly ever remembered that she was a married woman now, the ceremony had been as perfunctory as his kiss – not that she would have remembered something grand and romantic with the Archdemon screaming in her head. Then it was slain and Lyrill was still alive – part of her had hoped Morrigan's ritual would fail and she would be spared the continued indignity that was her personal life.  
Not that she had seen a lot of the former Regent; as soon as the crisis was over he'd gone to check on his Teyrnir and had left her and the still sullen Alistair to deal with Amaranthine. So her days had been blessedly Loghain-free.  
At least until now.  
The Queen was going to be married and had requested their presence. That in itself was not so bad, Lyrill was quite fond of Anora and respected her, even if this blasted marriage had been her idea. Alistair and Arl Eamon had been spitting nails, but it was the sensible solution and had done wonders for the unity of the troops.  
No, the bad thing was that they had to share a bedroom until the festivities were over. The worst thing was that they had to actually share a bed.  
“Which side do you want,” the object of her contemplations snarled.  
“The one closest to the window. I wouldn't want to have to climb over you, should I want to hurl myself out of it,” she answered waspishly.  
“How juvenile. Now change for the banquet. I won't have you sitting next to me in muddy leathers.”  
Lyrill frowned at him.  
“Get out then, I'm not going to change in front of you.”  
“As if there would be anything of interest to me,” he sneered.  
“Well of course not, you're old. Still. Out.”

...

Loghain went into the little sitting room and closed the door behind him with a snap. He hated to admit it, but her comment about his age had stung. How was he supposed to deal with this, with her, for weeks on end? She was everybody's darling, the Hero of Ferelden... people fawned over her as if she was the Second Coming of Andraste. So beautiful, so brave, so kind... so immature, so selfish, so bloody infuriating.  
He couldn't wait to get back to Gwaren – he would rather live with the ghost of his first wife, if it meant escaping the odious presence of his second. He was married to a mage, to an elf, and a pretty one, he had to give her that. All delicate bones, hair like dark honey and big, liquid eyes. Maric was sure having a good chuckle at his expense, wherever he was.  
And she missed no opportunity to make it clear that she detested him. To call him old, indeed! To imply that he couldn't...  
That stupid little girl, he fumed, who did she think she was?

...

Lyrill let out a relieved breath as her husband left and hurried to wash and change into a formal dress before he decided to come back. She hated to admit it, but he scared her. The sheer presence of him was overwhelming, and she felt so small in comparison to him. When she had first met him in Ostagar, he had seemed larger than life, a hero like in ancient legends. And then everything had gone pear-shaped...  
And now she was stuck with him, a man who didn't even respect her for her achievements, who looked down on her for being young, for being a mage, for being an elf. It hurt, it hurt a lot.  
So she insulted him whenever he belittled her, feeling a vicious sort of satisfaction whenever one of her barbs struck home.  
Finally done, she steeled herself and left the bedroom.  
Loghain had already changed into a resplendent outfit in dark velvet before she had arrived, delayed by the terrible weather. Part of her had wanted to wear her filthy travelling clothes just to spite him, but that would have been disrespectful to the Queen and the nobles, for whose approval she had worked so hard.  
“Finally.”  
Lyrill scowled and balled her fists as she simply passed by him and left the room, not caring, if he followed her or not.  
He did, grabbing her arm roughly, and made her take his.  
“Ouch!”  
“Insult me all you want in private, but in public you will behave with decorum as befits your station,” he berated her.  
“I didn't ask for this station, never wanted it!”  
“Do you think I did?”  
She frowned in confusion before she remembered his humble origins.  
“How am I supposed to know? No, scratch that, I don't care. Don't worry, I'll behave. I won't spit on the floor, I won't belch too loudly, and I won't piddle on the carpet.”  
“See that you don't,” he said evenly and strode off, Lyrill struggled to keep up with him, acutely aware of the heat his body gave off through the velvet of his doublet.

...

Loghain was surprised how quickly the hissing harpy on his arm transformed into a sweet, well mannered maiden as soon as they entered the hall. She politely greeted the nobles they encountered on their way to the head-table, and exchanged pleasantries with them, smiling serenely all the time.  
Anora greeted them warmly. She looked well, better than she had in months. Her intended, Fergus Cousland, was still a little pale, but had recovered well from his injuries. Loghain hoped that he would treat his beloved daughter better that her last husband had, and that she finally would find some happiness. The maker knew that she deserved it.  
The cooks had outdone themselves; the food was delicious and he enjoyed the meal – until he became aware of his wife flirting with Bann Teagan, who sat to her left.

...

“Oh my, that poor man,” Lyrill chortled.  
“He was quite embarrassed, yes. And he so wanted to prove that the sea-people existed in Lake Calenhad...”  
She laughed at the story Bann Teagan had told until Loghain's hand closed like a vice around her upper arm.  
“I thought I had made myself clear, when I told you I would not accept any straying on your part. But I shouldn't have expected any better from an elven hussy like you,” he hissed into her ear.  
Lyrill froze and closed her eyes, swallowing angry tears.  
“Your Majesty,” she addressed the queen in an even tone.  
“Yes, Warden?”  
“I'm feeling a little faint. May I be excused for a moment?”  
Anora smiled at her and nodded.  
“Of course. There's a balcony over there.”  
“Thank you your Majesty.”  
Jerking her arm out of Loghain's grip, she stood and slowly walked over to the open balcony doors. As soon as she was out of sight she sat down in the darkest corner and cried. That Bastard! How dare he...  
“Warden? Are you all right?”  
“Of course, your Majesty,” Lyrill answered and struggled to her feet, hastily wiping her face with her handkerchief.  
“Oh my. What has he done now?”  
“Your Majesty?”  
“My father. I know how he can be. Did he say something to upset you?”  
“He called me a hussy and accused me of adultery. I guess we don't really get along.”  
That had to be the understatement of the Age.  
The Queen sighed.  
“If you want to retire, I'll tell everyone that the wine didn't agree with you.”  
“Yes, I think that would be best. Thank you, your Majesty.”  
They left the balcony together, and Lyrill went back to the room she was to share with her husband. She quickly undressed and went to bed wearing her shift, curling up tight on her side of the bed, as close to the edge as she could manage without falling off.  
A while later she could hear Loghain enter the room.  
“Lyrill?”  
Ah, so he did know her name, she thought bitterly, this must have been the first time he ever called her by it. She didn't react, pretended to be asleep.  
Cloth rustled and then the bedding dipped as Loghain slipped beneath the covers and blew out the candle.  
It was quite some time later that Lyrill finally managed to fall asleep.

...

She was warm and comfortable when she woke, and there were birds singing in the palace-gardens.  
And she couldn't move.  
Couldn't move because there was a heavy arm thrown over her body, and long legs tangled with hers.  
And she could feel his...  
She panicked.  
“Get off, get off, GET OFF!” she screeched, flailing.  
Loghain awoke with a start and pushed himself away from her, making her tumble to the floor in a heap.  
“I'm sorry,” he mumbled sleepily.”Here, I'll help you up...”  
“Don't touch me! Just ... don't ever touch me again!”  
She could see something behind his eyes snap shut.  
“As you wish,” he said coldly.  
“Yes, I wish,” Lyrill snarled and got up from the floor. She went to the window. It looked awfully tempting right now. The thought that she had slept with him spooned up to her made her want to crawl out of her skin.  
Instead of throwing herself out of the window, she opted for going to the sitting room, where the servants had laid out a breakfast. Lyrill didn't feel like eating and simply poured herself a cup of tea.

...

Loghain sank back into the pillows with a groan. What a perfect way to start the day. Not that he couldn't understand her reaction; it had to be a little disconcerting to wake up with a stranger's morning wood pressed to ones butt. And they were strangers. They hadn't really spent any time in each others company, and he knew nothing about her, the heated conversation he'd had with his daughter last evening had opened his eyes to that fact. She had taken him aside and berated him for half an hour, rightfully accusing him of behaving like a bloody oaf where his wife was concerned.  
But she was so infuriating... how was he supposed to be civil to her, if she constantly snarled and snarked at him?  
He got up and dressed. There was still an apology he owed her, after all.  
She was sitting in an armchair nursing a cup of tea when he entered the room.  
“I shouldn't have said the things I did, last night,” he began.  
“No, you shouldn't have.”  
“You have given me no reason to doubt your word. I apologize.”  
She looked up at him, blinking.  
“Come again?”  
“I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong, and I overreacted,” he said evenly. Would she make him grovel on his knees?  
No, Lyrill simply nodded and went back to sipping her tea.  
Loghain clenched his teeth. He apologized! What else did she want?  
“Don't you think that we should at least try to get along as long as the festivities last?”  
His snippy little wife finished her tea and sat down the cup on the low table.  
“I'm getting dressed. If anyone comes looking for me, I'll be at the training grounds,” she said and disappeared into the bedroom.  
Loghain barely resisted the impulse to smash his cup in the fireplace.

...

Lyrill needed to blow off some steam. She was more than a little confused about his behaviour this morning. What was he planning? She didn't trust him one bit.  
The weight of the Spellweaver was comforting in her hand, the familiar, gentle hum of the enchanted sword soothed her frayed nerves. She concentrated, channelled her magic to augment her body as the spirit of the ancient elven warrior had taught her. There were a few recruits on one side of the grounds, but none of them would be of any use to her, so the practise dummy it was for now. Her swings were powerful, but sometimes lacked in accuracy, so she decided to practise that, trying to hit the dummy in vital areas in exactly the same spots over and over again.  
“A mage with a sword. Interesting. I've always thought those gossips at court were exaggerating. How exactly does that work?”  
Lyrill let lowered her sword and turned around.  
Loghain stood in front of her, arms folded over his chest, fully armed and armoured.  
“Would you like to find out,” Lyrill challenged him.  
He drew his sword.  
“I must admit I'm curious how a tiny thing like you managed to slay a dragon.”  
“Three, actually, even if one of them was actually a shape-shifted Flemmeth, the Witch of the Wilds.”  
“Indeed,” he answered drolly and attacked.  
Lyrill ducked behind her shield in surprise. His first few hits almost made her knees buckle, before she managed a counter-attack. Dear Maker, he hit like a sledgehammer. And he was surprisingly fast. A well timed shield bash had her sprawling on her back like a beetle, and he had the gall to sneer at her. Lyrill sent a blast of fire up at him that distracted him long enough for her to get to her feet again.  
The recruits made their way over to watch. Oh perfect, she thought sarcastically, an audience. Now she couldn't lose, come what may.  
They matched each other swipe for swipe, Loghain's face drawn with concentration, hers twisted into a vicious snarl. She'd show him, and if it was the last thing she did.  
A few mumbled words and her sword glittered with ice, shocking him with cold every time she managed to hit him. The glow of her shield spell, but then his sword connected with her thigh and she bled.  
She needed to end this now or she'd lose.  
Another burst of flame drove him back long enough for her to cast down her shield and sword to create a cone of cold that froze him. She could see his skin crack and blood well to the surface as she hastily grabbed her sword. A swift kick sent him to his back and just as he regained his ability to move she had one knee on his breast-plate and her sword at his throat.  
“That's how it works,” she bit out.  
Loghain looked up at her in surprise, hoarfrost thawing from his hair and eyebrows.  
“I yield. You've won this match.”  
Lyrill got to her feet, hissing as she put weight on her injured leg, vaguely aware of the recruits applauding her.  
Loghain got up as well.  
“You should have that looked at,” he said, gesturing towards her injury.  
“No need,” she said casting a healing spell on herself and, with a patronizing expression, one on him that made the lesions left by the frost disappear.  
Lyrill turned around to leave, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.  
“I underestimated you.”  
“Yes you underestimated me. You underestimate me all the time in every way. I'm not weak, and I'm not stupid. I'm sick of you treating me the way you do,” she hissed quietly for his ears alone.  
“Then how do you think you deserve to be treated?”  
She shook him off and sneered at him.  
“If you can't figure that out on your own, you're not half as clever as everyone gives you credit,” she jeered and stalked off.

...

 

“She opposes me at every turn, spites me for the sake of spiting me. I tried to be civil to her, and she just threw it back into my face,” he ranted, pacing the floor of his daughter's study.  
Anora shook her head.  
“You can't expect her to come around after barely a day. Just be patient. Maybe if you tried to do something nice for her...”  
“Something nice? What, take her out on a picnic? Buy her a pretty trinket? A bouquet of flowers, perhaps?”  
His daughter laughed.  
“No, you are not trying to court her, are you?”  
Loghain stopped to shoot her an incredulous look.  
“No! What gave you that idea?”  
“Just asking,” Anora said with a shrug. “She is very pretty.”  
“That she is,” Loghain growled. “Her personality, however leaves a lot to be desired.”  
“Oh? I found her rather charming, level-headed and intelligent. Did you know she shares your liking for maps?”  
“No.”  
“Well, she does; I saved yours, by the way. And she reads a lot too. We conversed a little after the Blight when she was in the infirmary, where you couldn't be bothered to visit her just once.”  
Loghain sank down in an armchair.  
“I very much doubt she'd have welcomed my presence.”  
“But you never found out for sure, did you?”  
He sighed.  
“Anora, we mutually loathe each other.”  
“Strange, since I rather like you both. Did it ever occur to you that she might be afraid?”  
“Afraid? Of me? You must be joking. It barely took her a ten minutes to defeat me today. She slew an Archdemon, remember? Surely she can handle me. She's the Hero of Ferelden, after all.”  
“She is also a very young woman who hasn't set a foot outside the Circle Tower until about two years ago. Nobody ever prepared her for what she had to do, the only people she could really trust were Alistair and Wynne, who have both given her a hard time over her decision to agree to a marriage to you. You saw how Alistair behaved during the Landsmeet, and I happened to overhear Wynne chew her out when Lyrill was still bedridden. It wasn't pretty.”  
“So?”  
“What is she supposed to think, if her supposed best friends treat her like that? If that's how friends behave, what might the man she perceives as her worst enemy have in store for her?”  
Slowly it dawned on him what she meant.  
“Anora, I'd never...”  
“I know. My point is, she doesn't. So she continually strikes out at you.”  
“I see,” he murmured pensively and stood. “Thank you, Anora. I think, I'll find that pretty little wife of mine and test your theory...”

...

Lyrill sat at the little desk in their chambers and read the letters Varel had sent from Amaranthine. Nothing special so far, and here she had hoped for an emergency that would call her away. The Architect seemed to be keeping his word and kept the Darkspawn away from the surface. If he even was beneath her Arling any longer – the Deep Roads spanned all of Thedas, after all. Perhaps he had moved his base of operations elsewhere and was henceforth someone else's problem.  
Wouldn't that be something?  
Normally yes, but right now she wished he'd open a big basket of freak over her Arling that would give her an excuse to do something.  
Something else than sitting and wondering what her dearest husband was planning to get her back for the humiliation she'd put him through earlier.  
He was probably mad enough to breathe fire.  
What to do? She could use magic on him again, but if she didn't outright kill him, that would only make him even angrier. Of course he couldn't kill her either, but that still left him enough leeway to have his revenge. Lyrill shuddered. She couldn't always fight him, had to eat, had to sleep. And she knew that Loghain had a devious, devious mind, experience and a lot of patience. The only thing she was certain of was that he would strike, she just had no idea how or when.  
Wynne had been right, this had been a Very Bad Idea. She wished her friend was here, even if they weren't on speaking terms right now. Or writing terms, since the Senior Enchanter had gone back to the Circle Tower.  
Lyrill almost jumped out of her skin when the door opened and Loghain strode in.  
“News from Amaranthine?”  
She quickly folded the letters and hid them in her pocket.  
“Nothing important.”  
“I've sent for tea, would you care to join me?” he asked, sitting down in an armchair, putting an elaborate scroll-case on the table.  
“No.”  
“A pity. You see, Anora took care of my collection of maps during my absence, and she returned them to me a few moments ago. I was going to look through them, check on their condition... some of them are very old and valuable.”  
Was this a trap? What kind of trap would he set with maps and tea? His proposal seemed harmless enough; and she loved maps. They had been her only way of escaping the tower. How often had she secluded herself in the library, books written by the famous travelling-scholar Genitivi in her lap, a map on the table, her fingers tracing out the journey, pretending it was her who was seeing the snow-tipped mountains that divided them from Orlais, the shimmering cathedral of Val Royeaux, the vast plains of the Anderfels...  
Loghain snapped open the catch and pulled out the first rolled up parchment. The soft rustle had her enthralled, the distinctive smell pulled her nearer and she couldn't resist its call.  
She sank down on the armchair on the other side of the table.  
“The Free Marches. One might say that it's foolish to keep a map of that area, the borders shift every few months. But this map, though not very current, is rather exact where the geography is concerned. It was a vast help when I travelled there on a diplomatic mission a few years ago. We went along this river here and I counted the side-arms. They matched the map perfectly in number and location.”  
Lyrill watched in fascination as his right index-finger traced out the route taken.  
A serving girl entered and carefully set down a tray on the empty spot on the table, bowed and left as quietly as she had come.  
Pouring them both a cup, Lyrill watched in fascination as Loghain rolled out another map, after carefully putting away the first.  
“This one shows Rivain... I've never been there, so I can't tell you if it's accurate or not.”  
“But it's gorgeous... are those animals real?”  
“I'm told they are.”  
This map was probably the most beautiful Lyrill had ever seen. It was very detailed, the cities not only dots on the parchment but detailed little miniatures. The beasts seemed fantastic – was it possible that such creatures existed?  
“Those birds, with the long tails,” she said, pointing at one of the minute illustrations.  
“Oh, those do exist. An ambassador once gifted King Maric with a pair of those once. The female was quite plain, but the male was a sight to behold. It could fan out its tail to form a graceful half-circle, each feather topped with a marking like an eye. Anora kept a few, I think. The pair grew quite old, but we couldn't get them to breed. Maybe they missed the warm climate of their home.”  
“I wish I could have seen that.”  
He rolled up the map and brought out another.  
Lyrill gaped.  
“Is that...”  
“Only a copy, I'm afraid, but yes, the only map that survived the invasion of the Tevinter Imperium. The realms of the ancient elves before their subjugation.”  
“Elvhenan,” Lyrill whispered reverently, gently trailing her fingertips over the image of what had once been the realm of her people. She wasn't Dalish, didn't really feel connected to the ancient ways – but everyone in her life had made her feel keenly what she was.  
Elf.  
Inferior.  
Weak.  
To see so clearly painted carefully on parchment what once had been, see the depiction of a world shaped by her kind, not by his... it was bitter-sweet, painful and sublime at once. Tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped them away with her sleeve, mortified to cry in front of him.  
“Lyrill, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you.”  
She waved him off, unable to speak, and jumped out of her seat to rush into the bedroom.

...

Loghain debated with himself for a moment if he should follow her or not. He did, and found her standing at the window, still in tears.  
“I'm sorry,” he repeated, “I really didn't think the map would upset you. I honestly thought you might like it.”  
He cautiously drew nearer and gingerly put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched a little, but didn't withdraw.  
“That's not it,” she answered in a tremulous voice.  
“Then what is it? You've never hesitated to point out my failures to me before.”  
“The map is wonderful. But what it means to someone like me ... do you have any idea what it's like to be a mage and an elf? Everybody, including you, sees me as that, never as a person. It's always about what I am, not who I am. An elf may be fit to do your laundry, but will never be someone worthy of respect or courtesy. And then something like this map. A reminder of a past when things were different. When someone like me had the chance to be happy.”  
Loghain was floored at her outburst. She was right, he had never bothered to look behind her pretty face and pointed ears. He felt quite ashamed of himself; once he had been different. In the rebel army he had founded the night-elves, a feared contingent of archers...  
It was Katriel, of course, who had soured his disposition towards elves in general, and pretty female elves in particular.  
But this wasn't Katriel. This was Lyrill, the saviour of his beloved Ferelden. She had been loyal. He just hadn't wanted to see that everybody was singing her praise for a reason.  
He pulled her into his arms, half expecting to be transformed into an icicle for the second time that day, but she didn't react at all, just let it happen.  
“You are special, and you shouldn't need anyone to tell you that. You and your merry band of misfits managed to do the impossible and saved us all. It took me long enough to see that, but I finally do,” he murmured into her hair.  
“Do you really mean that?” she hiccuped into his shirt.  
“Yes, I do mean that. You can accuse me of many things, but I usually tell the truth. So, you do like the map?”  
“Yes. Yes, I like it very much.”  
“Then it's yours,” he said impulsively.  
She drew back a little, eyeing him warily.  
“What do you want in return?”  
“Nothing. I'm not out to get you, not any more. Well, perhaps you could let me look at it now and again?”  
“You're not mad at me for what happened earlier at the training-grounds?”  
Loghain chuckled.  
“No. I should have known that you are quite formidable, I should have known better than to goad you like that. I received nothing that I didn't rightfully deserve,” he answered with a rueful smile which she cautiously returned.  
She looked very kissable right now, he thought, with her defences down like that, even if her nose was swollen and her face all blotchy. He quickly lowered his arms and took a step back before he could follow that impulse.  
“Now, how about you wash your face and we return to our tea? There are quite a few more maps to go through.”  
Was that disappointment on her face right then? Maybe. He filed the thought away for later.  
They spent a very pleasant afternoon looking through his maps until it was time to dress for the banquet.

...

Lyrill was feeling quite tipsy when she stumbled back to their chambers on Loghain's arm. She hiccuped and giggled.  
“I told you not to drink so much.”  
“But this spiced wine was so tasty! And it isn't like I followed Bann Ceorlic's example and barfed into a flower-pot.”  
“He did what?”  
“Didn't you see? I sure did,” she said and giggled again.  
“You're drunk.”  
“Not very much. Just a little tired.”  
They arrived and went straight to the bedroom. Lyrill was a little shocked that Loghain didn't share her reservations about getting undressed in company. He quickly divested himself of his doublet, followed by his shirt. When his hands went to the fastenings of his breeches, she turned her back, blushing. She had always secretly considered him to be a handsome man, with his broad shoulders and solid physique. Suddenly there was a tingle in her belly, and she bit her lip.  
“You can look, I'm decent. Are you going to sleep in that gown?”  
She turned around. He was wearing nothing but a pair of thin, linen trousers that didn't leave much to the imagination. She blushed again.  
“No, of course not,” she muttered and fumbled with the fastenings, but her trembling fingers slipped.  
“Here, let me help,” Loghain said and helped her to open her dress. She tried hard not to think about the implications of that.  
Loghain pulled down the covers as she put her dress away, and lay down with a sigh.  
Lyrill tiptoed around the bed to her side and hesitated a little.  
“Oh, come on, you should know by now that I don't bite,” he said with a little smirk and held up the covers for her to slip in.  
She did so, swallowing hard. He knew she was awake this time. And he had seen her all vulnerable with her defences down this afternoon, which scared her more than she could say.  
He seemed to sense the shift in her mood, because his eyes became serious as well.  
“I'm not going to hurt you. Just sleep, Lyrill, and I'll do the same,” he said, and blew out the candle.

...

 

This time she had wrapped around him in her sleep, Loghain noticed as he woke up. Her head rested on his shoulder and her hand on his chest, one leg thrown over his. He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes again when she sucked in a deep breath and lifted her head, only to let it sink back down a moment later with a groan.  
“Going to yell at me again?” he asked her.  
She flinched.  
“My head ... it feels as if Oghren is tap-dancing around in it...”  
“I warned you, didn't I?”  
“Oh, shut up and let me die in peace.”  
He chuckled and gently rubbed her back.  
“That bad?”  
Lyrill only groaned again and attempted to pull the covers over her head, but they were stuck somewhere between them.  
Loghain snorted at her efforts and tightened his embrace a little.  
“It's just a hangover; better sleep it off. Nobody expects us until the ceremony this afternoon.”  
She didn't answer, so Loghain just held her until her breath evened out. He liked having her in his arms, she was soft and warm, and it was so wonderful not to lie in bed alone, to have the company of a beautiful woman. He had almost forgotten just how that felt, to hold a sleeping wife that had curled up to him seeking warmth and comfort.  
After a while he started to trace lazy circles on her back with his fingertips. Her shift had ridden up during the night and bunched around her waist; so he could easily reach the naked skin of her hip.  
She didn't react.  
He felt a little guilty, but then told himself that, according to custom and the Chantry, he was supposed to touch her.  
His wife. For the first time the thought actually appealed to him.  
He traced her nose with his index-finger and she twitched it adorably, grumbling, and cuddling even closer, her thigh bumping against his crotch. Loghain bit his lip and suppressed a groan. This was torture. Her breath tickled the skin of his chest and he could feel the firm mounds of her breasts against his ribs. His other hand was now exploring the silky skin of her butt, and he discovered that one cheek almost perfectly fit into it.  
His cock was now pulsing with need and he needed relief. Badly.  
Gingerly he opened his trousers and freed his erection, barely daring to breathe.  
He needn't have worried, it seemed like Lyrill was dead to the world.  
His left hand closed around his length and he moved it, keeping his eyes on her for any change. His gaze fell on her delicate fingers, relaxedly lying on his chest. What would they feel like? An idea appeared in his mind and he stifled another groan.  
Did he dare? Those hands were dangerous, especially near such a vital area. Should she wake up...  
He decided to risk it, and carefully took her unresisting hand, guiding it towards his erection, wrapping it around, using it to stroke himself. She twitched and he froze for a moment, holding his breath, but nothing happened. With a relieved sigh he kissed the top of her head and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in deeply, relishing in her scent. She was lovely, so lovely... taking up his strokes again he breathed harder as his arousal grew. Normally he would have sped up now, grasped himself more firmly, but he didn't dare, kept his touch light and his movements slow.  
It took him quite long to reach his climax but he eventually did, threw his head back and spilt his seed on his abdomen, trying not to make a sound, not to breathe too hard.  
Loghain caught his breath and discreetly cleaned himself with a corner of the sheet after positioning Lyrill's hand on his chest again.  
He felt a little guilty when he looked at her, so peacefully asleep, but he couldn't bring himself to regret what he'd done. This lovely little interlude would probably be the only thing he'd ever have – he doubted very much that she'd have that much wine again. And if he ever so much as suggested intimacy, he thought tugging Lyrill's shift down to cover her derrière, she'd blast him out of the window for certain.

...

Lyrill resisted the temptation to bite her lip. She was aroused, almost painfully so, just because Loghain had masturbated (and used her hand to do it, no less) believing her to be asleep. She hadn't dared to “wake up” - that would have led to a pretty ugly scene. Better to be silent and let him believe that she had noticed nothing.  
Maker, she wanted him. She couldn't move, couldn't even open her eyes without alerting him to the fact that she was indeed awake; so she had no choice but to listen to his slowing heartbeat, no choice but to take in his intensified scent with every carefully slow breath she took.  
His caresses had been so careful, so gentle ... she was surprised that he had touched her in that manner; never would have thought him capable of such tenderness. And now she was aching; a sweet, slow burn that threatened to consume her self-control.  
He shifted a little and drew her closer, his hand tangling in her hair and she gasped as a fingertip brushed the sensitive tip of her ear. Damn, now he knew that she was awake.  
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, letting his hand fall away. “I didn't mean to wake you.”  
She rolled herself away from him, even though she didn't really want to.  
“How is your head?” Loghain asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her.  
“Better,” she answered.  
She finally dared to meet his eyes. It occurred to her that she had never really looked at his face before; never noticed all the little things. She had known that his eyes were blue, but now she saw the tiny silver flecks in his irises that gave his gaze its wintry chill. He wasn't scowling right now, so his lips looked soft and relaxed – kissable, she caught herself thinking. And he had morning-stubble all over the lower part of his face, his dark hair was in total disarray, and one of his braids had come halfway undone. It made him seem more real, she thought, less like the monster that had haunted her nightmares, more like a man.  
He raised his hand to her face, letting it hover for a moment as if to give her time to avoid his touch before running his fingertips over her cheekbone.  
As if caught in a spell (and she was supposed to be the mage here, a little voice at the back of her head teased) she let him, didn't protest or turn away when his face came nearer until she had to close her eyes when she couldn't focus on him any longer. His breath ghosted over her lips, once, twice, and then his mouth followed in a delicate kiss.  
That was when her stomach rumbled. Loudly.  
“Sorry,” she mumbled.  
Loghain looked at her slightly askance.  
“How can you be hungry after all that food you ate last night?”  
“It's a Grey Warden thing. We need more food, it's the taint, it sucks a lot out of us.”  
“Interesting. So I suppose that makes you starve faster than a regular person?”  
That was like a bucket of cold water. Stupid, stupid ... she had let herself be lulled into complacency and had spilled a secret of her order, had given him a weapon against them. It was true, Grey wardens relied on regular provision even more than a regular army – hence all the caches all over the place.  
“Get off. Don't touch me!”  
Loghain sighed.  
“Are we back to this? I really thought we'd made some progress.”  
Lyrill jumped out of the bed and winced when her head protested at her sudden movement.  
“Progress? You were just manipulating me!”  
“And people call me paranoid. I repeat: I'm not your enemy, wife. I don't mean any harm to you or your Order. But if I'm to find a common strategy for us to deal with further threats, don't you think I should know about all those little peculiarities? There's more to planning a battle than to decide who stands where and which company attacks when. Calculating the needed provisions is an important part, one I would utterly fail at, would I not know about the Warden's increased need for food.”  
“Oh,” Lyrill said, sitting back down on the bed.  
“Yes, oh. You'd harm your Order more than helping it by keeping such details from me, don't you realize that?”  
Lyrill nodded. He was right about that.  
“I jumped to conclusions; I apologize.”  
Loghain sat up and put a hand on her shoulder.  
“You don't trust me at all, do you? We'll never make this work like that.”  
She turned around to face him.  
“Do you want to? To make this work?”  
“Yes, I do. In more than one way,” he admitted with a lopsided grin.  
She wanted to trust him, she realized. He was a man, not a monster; and he was trying.  
“I ... I was awake,” she mumbled, blushing hard.  
Loghain winced.  
“You could have stopped me.”  
“I suppose. But I think, I don't mind.”  
“That's a relief,” Loghain chuckled, “You are a very dangerous woman. So ... would you turn me into an icicle, if I suggested we continue?”  
“No. I ... I'd like that, I think. I'm just not sure I'm ready to...”  
Loghain drew her into his arms.  
“No need to go all the way at once. Or perhaps you'd like to have something to eat first?”  
Lyrill shrugged.  
“I'm not that starved.”  
“That's good to hear.”  
Lyrill slipped back under the covers and cuddled up to her husband, soaking in his warmth. It was spring, so the nights were still quite chilly.  
He smelled like honey, she thought, the dark variety that was more tart than sweet. Lyrill explored his chest and shoulders, finding dips and curves, firm flesh and soft skin, like steel covered in velvet. And scars, so many scars. How had he come by them all, she wondered, as his lips found hers for another languid kiss.  
His hands moved over her shift and it felt wonderful to be touched like this – but she wanted his hands on her skin, so she wriggled out of his embrace to get rid of it, before returning to his arms. He held her away a little and simply looked at her.  
“Hm... you are very lovely,” he murmured, running his fingertips over her back.  
His piercing eyes on her naked body did strange things to her stomach. Nobody had ever looked at her like that; as if she was a feast to be devoured any second. And he did lower his head to her breast, but not to sink his teeth into her; his lips merely closed around a nipple. Lyrill could feel his tongue circling and flicking it, and she gasped, her hands flying into his hair.  
His fingers, meanwhile, had wandered over her abdomen to the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs.  
“Please open your legs for me, dear one,” Loghain requested before switching to her other breast, mouthing and sucking at it.  
Lyrill moved her legs apart and his clever fingers slipped between them, petting her for a while, like one would a cat.  
“Put your hand atop mine and guide me. Teach me how to please you best.”  
She did and pressed down until her nether lips parted and let him touch the delicate flesh they hid. Guiding two of his fingers into a circular motion, she let her head fall back, overwhelmed by the sensation. His hands were big and callused, it seemed so impossible that they should be capable of subtle manipulations of her most intimate parts. His fingers in her slippery folds, his mouth on her breasts ... it was too much, too much...  
Lyrill bucked like a wild thing when she came with a silent scream.  
Panting, she let Loghain pull her close.  
“May I assume you liked that,” he asked with entirely too much humour in his voice.  
“Yes, I liked. But I think so did you. If I'm not mistaken, you're hard again.”  
“No need to trouble yourself.”  
Lyrill bit her lip and ran her fingers through the coarse, dark hair on his chest. So strange that, elven men were all smooth there.  
“No, I mean ... can I...”  
“Certainly,” he said with a lopsided grin and rolled onto his back. “Do as you will, wife. Just please no ice.”  
“No ice,” Lyrill agreed and shifted down to lay her head on his stomach, resting her hand on his thigh.  
For a moment she just looked. She knew what he felt like, but the sight was something entirely new to her. Certainly bigger than an elf, darker than the rest of his skin and heavily veined, the head already glistened with a drop of pre-come. Her hand moved to his sac first; the first touch made him twitch and she smiled. It felt strange; the soft skin contrasting with the rough texture of his pubic hair. Lyrill followed the seam-like line in the middle to the base of his length, enjoying the change to warm smoothness.  
She had been acutely aware of what he had done to please himself earlier, so she gripped him firmly and reproduced the movements, watching in fascination how the skin slid over his shaft next to her hand. The smell was nice, she thought, what would he taste like?  
Lyrill decided to simply find out.  
She was a little startled when Loghain groaned as she licked the pearly drop of liquid from the tip. Tasted strange, but not unpleasant. There had been whispers in the dormitories...  
She decided to try that too, opening her mouth wide to fit the head of his erection in. It was a bit of a struggle, but she managed without scraping him with her teeth.  
“Lyrill, dear, come here...”  
Was she doing it wrong? Letting go she turned her head to face him confusedly.  
“Would you like me to return the favour?” he asked with a faint smile, his eyes heavy lidded and dark with desire.  
Oh... Oh! That was what he meant.  
Lyrill changed position with his help and came to straddle his head. When he grabbed her ass in both hands and pulled her down, she took him in her mouth again and moaned around him when she felt his tongue.  
That was even better than his fingers, she thought, and continued to moan as she bobbed her head up and down and sucked, one hand gripping his length firmly. It was like two spells augmenting each other in a loop. He licked, nibbled and sucked at her, she wriggled her tongue; he sped up and so did she, grinding herself against his face, his stubble scratching at the insides of her thighs. She felt so deliciously wanton with his hard cock in her mouth; good little elven girls didn't do that to shems... She vaguely thought that this should disgust her, but it didn't. He moaned just like she did, kneading the flesh of her butt; the thought of just who she was doing this with somehow added to the eroticism of the moment.  
It didn't take much longer until she climaxed with a desperate, keening sound, and he followed, shooting viscous spurts of liquid into her mouth. Startled, she withdrew, and the last of it splattered against her neck and chest.  
Limbs wobbly, she was about to collapse on top of him, but Loghain helped her turn around, cleaning them both with the sheet before kissing her hungrily.  
They curled up together, catching their breath, until Lyrill's stomach grumbled again.  
She felt Loghain's laughter more than she heard it.  
“Ah yes, your other appetite. I almost forgot about that.”  
They cuddled for another few moments, and finally got up to have some breakfast.

...

Loghain watched amusedly as his wife consumed her breakfast. She had seemed to have perfected the art of eating as much as possible in a short amount of time. Not that she acted like a pig, she still ate mannerly and delicately, she just did it really fast.  
“What?” she asked between bites, visibly put out at his amusement.  
“You look a bit like a rabbit when you eat. No, better yet, a hamster. Yes, exactly like one of those small golden creatures infesting our fields when I was a boy. Even your colouring fits. My delicate, little lady-hamster,” he answered, wincing as soon as the words had left his mouth. What if she was offended?  
Lyrill snorted into her tea.  
“A hamster? Well, I've seen pictures of those animals in books, and they looked kind of cute, so I'll forgive you. But I can't say I've ever seen one eat.”  
Loghain grinned.  
“They inhale their food in rapid little nibbles, just like you do. And they have pockets at the side of their face where they stuff everything to carry it home.”  
Lyrill snorted again and shook her head.  
“A hamster. Well, I've been called worse. Now I have to think about a nickname for you. Problem is, I've never met a creature that even slightly resembles you. Ah well, something will suggest itself in time.”  
Loghain moved to sit next to her on the couch and drew her close.  
“The Orlesians usually compare me to a Mabari.”  
Lyrill laughed.  
“I can see why they do. You are strong, loyal, clever, and your bite is just as bad as your bark.”  
“I told you before, I don't bite. Well, perhaps, if I'm asked very nicely.”  
Lyrill craned her neck to look at him.  
“That's good to know.”  
Loghain smiled and kissed her. It was amazing how different she was when relaxed, when she wasn't being all prickly and defensive, when he could joke with her and tease. Maybe being married to her wouldn't be all that bad.

...

Lyrill smiled as she got dressed for the ceremony.  
Little elven girls didn't get swept off their feet by knights in shining armour.  
Lyrill Surana wasn't a good little elf, so she would enjoy being swept off her feet by her human husband very much indeed.  
Little mages weren't supposed to hold titles.  
Lyrill Surana wasn't a good little mage, so she would be proud and outspoken and everybody else could just sod off.  
Mages were said to be lascivious and promiscuous.  
Lyrill Surana remembered what had happened, and grinned – she might just prove the lascivious part right.


End file.
